Read at your own peril, Part I

I posted this on another blog; it was one of the activities I shared with my then sweetheart, who later became my husband, and who delivered food twice a week to people who needed it, despite continuing pain in his back and a great deal of difficulty opening the locks on the container…

December 29, 2010 at 9:56am

I just came back from the food container where we give out food on Wednesday and Saturday mornings. Today there were eight families, with various amounts of children, and one lone grandmother who came with her grandson, and who is obviously having a hard time with her mind. Although I did not ask, she has worn hands, not from age but from work, but now that her mind wonders and she totters on aging feet, the food we give her probably keeps her from dying of malnutrition, although today we had no oatmeal or beans, only ‘light’ tuna and canned corn and peaches, some white rice and pasta… no milk or juice for the weary hungry.

I came home and had one of those ‘bleeding heart’ moments of sobbing while I was putting my own fresh fruit and vegetables into the juicer. Last weekend when I went to my daughter’s baby showers in Los Angeles, part of the reason we took longer to get there was the hordes of people pouring into and out of malls around the LA area, shopping ’till they drop… On days like today, as a proud and ‘ornery Spic, I fully understand the word ‘bleeding heart’ because my heart does bleed, and I feel powerless and hopeless, but then the ‘ornery part takes over and I am enraged that in this society of plenty (at least, the top percentile has more than they could use in untold generations…) we throw away people in this way.

I am learning Tagalog and converse with our families in Spanish or Tagalog, sometimes in slow English; one of my vices, besides a love of language, is an endless curiosity about the human condition and the human animal. We have all sorts of families come to supplement meager pantries with our even meager offerings; many of them have small children who will gladly drink the juice we distribute, when we have juice, which is not always. In Hayward most families have retrenched as the jobs have disappeared; for any of the Fox news pundits who have announced the end of the ‘recession,’ I would agree only because what we have is a depression that is darker and wearier and colder and more bitter than anything I have seen in my years in these benighted States of Corruption.

I am feeling better now; rage always does that for me. I am thinking of all the fat cats out there talking about deportation and about ‘illegal aliens,’ and about the ‘greedy seniors’ who refuse to give up their paltry social security benefits. If the rest of us, the ones who are not fat cats, lived in any other country, we would be out there blocking the streets, demanding an end to the impunity of the rich who have stolen their way right into their next Rolls Royce or Mercedes Benz, or whatever is their fancy, who throw parties in their million dollar homes where the help is all ‘illegal’ so they can be paid shit wages while the rich drink Dom Perignon and munch on the best imported caviar.

If I were younger, I might start a revolution. We sure as hell could use one. And somewhere, perhaps on this blog itself, is my essay on Revolution as the true spirit of Christmas… Of course, that particular revolutionary rabble-rouser was put to death by his people because he was advocating a change that most people were unwilling to accept. Yes, if you own two coats, give one of them up for your soul…
Today we would create a fake proceeding, accuse him of some squalid crime and perhaps even send him away to faraway Guantanamo or to some country where ‘interrogation’ techniques are not frowned upon…

This is part I, more to come, but if I don’t get back before the 31st rolls around, may you have a revolutionary new year. I can’t think of anything better to wish you all…